Sacrifices
by MakorraLove97
Summary: He then stood and cleared his throat, his eyes fixated on his child as she continued to sleep for a few moments before he finally turned with his back to her. He closed his eyes for a brief second and a single tear seemed to have escaped and slid down his cheek. Forgive me. / Stannis' thoughts after Melisandre suggesting to sacrifice his daughter. / Season 5, episode 7, The Gift.


**Hello! How are you guys? Hopefully doing alright after watching the season 5's finale. Okay, so just a bit of a warning. This is my first _Game of Thrones_ fanfiction and I'm sure how good this is, but nevertheless, I did try my best with it. Hopefully it came out okay because that whole scene between Stannis and Shireen nearly broke my heart. The fact that he could have done that to his daughter… he went from one of my favorite characters to one of my most hated in mere moments.**

 **Yeah, so I wrote this a bit while back, after watching 5x07, _The Gift,_ where Melisandre suggests to Stannis that he should use his daughter as a sacrifice. I was really hoping he wouldn't do it, but alas, Melisandre knows just how to manipulate people…**

 **Anyway, a short one-shot based on Stannis' thoughts after Melisandre's suggestion. I hope you guys like it! Also, in case you would like to know, I made the icon picture for this story, which is on my DeviantArt account, _MakorraLove12_. Please leave a comment/review letting me know your thoughts/opinions/feedback/etc. It's really important to me and I would greatly appreciate it. Thank you!**

 **Please enjoy. :)**

* * *

 _"Sometimes, sacrifices must be made to ensure victory…"_

Quietly, he stepped foot inside the tent that belonged to his daughter. He held his breath, not wishing to wake her from what seemed to be peaceful slumber as she curled herself further underneath the fur covers. She buried her face deeper into the pillow, only leaving the harsh scar visible.

He took a seat on the high backed chair placed in the corner of the small tent and watched her for several moments. The cold, brisk air cut at his skin as it seeped through the small openings and whipped around his features, reminding him of the bone chilling reality. Winter is coming.

His eyelids slid shut and to his surprise, he was almost enjoying the sweet sound of pure silence, despite for the tiny snores of his young child. For a while there, he was almost forgetting what the beautiful sound of nothing sounded like, it's been that long.

It has been that long since he had the chance to appreciate the quietness of the night, to have a moment's rest after spending endless days and nights planning for attack and discovering and deciding on strategies. It has been that long since he had the chance to watch his daughter sleep while forgetting every other responsibility he had.

When he heard a whimper that was barely audible to the ear, though he heard it regardless, his eyes snapped open and immediately landed on the child shivering beneath her blankets of fur. Her teeth were chattering in her sleep and her small body was shaking.

The cold was going to be the death of all of them.

 _Unless_ … He shook his head, not wanting to entertain the thought. Not now. Not after he finally managed to stop his blood from boiling in his veins and quit pacing like a madman. He just started to calm and recompose himself after almost tearing apart his tent.

He stood then and kneeled beside his daughter's sleeping form. His daughter. One of the very few, if only, to love him. She was cautious around him - who wasn't? - and sometimes tiptoed around him, but nevertheless, she loved him. She looked up to him. She watched him, prayed for him, and even admired him and there were plenty of times he would stay up in the early hours of the morning wondering why and if he deserved that - deserved _her_.

With one gentle and careful finger, he stroked the left side of her face. He lightly brushed along the greyscale like he had done many times when she was an infant and focused on the rough feeling of the skin. It was hard and cold to the touch and honestly he wasn't sure if he would ever get used to it.

He tucked the blanket tighter around her body and mentally cursed the cold weather. How much longer were he and his men going to make it? Would they even survive until they reached Winterfell? He had his doubts.

Sometimes, sacrifices must be made to ensure victory.

Melisandre's words echoed in his ears and constantly replayed in his mind. Those words wouldn't leave him alone and kept haunting him until he reached the point where he had to see her. He had to see his daughter.

Have you lost your mind?

She's my daughter.

Get out.

For the longest time, all he remembered wishing for was having a son. He prayed for a strong, healthy boy that would one day obtain the Throne that was rightfully his and make his namesake proud. That was until a young baby girl was placed delicately in his arms as he awkwardly held her close to his chest.

He was Stannis of House Baratheon, First of his Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. He was Stannis - Stannis the unloved, the coldhearted Lord, and a man certainly not made for fatherhood. Yet, he found himself fond of the sweet, scarred child that laid before him. He cared for her. He would do anything in his power to ensure her safety.

Sometimes, sacrifices must be made to ensure victory.

Every man sometime in his life must make a sacrifice. He always knew that. He wasn't a naive or stupid man; he knew one man couldn't have it all, regardless of how much they would try. He made sacrifices before in his life, but none were as hard as the one he now had to make.

Bloody hell, he had his own brother killed. His baby brother who looked up and admired him at a time. He was the youngest and the one that bared a pure, good heart and look what he had done to him. All for what? A claim to the Throne?

She's my daughter.

He kept hearing his words repeat in his head. He had told Melisandre that was his daughter, but truthfully, what difference did that make? He had killed his own brother, why wouldn't he be able to take his own daughter's life? He would like to think he was better than that.

He looked away from her and focused his icy irises elsewhere. He couldn't look at the innocence of his daughter's face anymore. The guilt was clawing at him like raging waves as it drowned him. His men were going to die. That was a high possibility. He wouldn't run, though. He would not be a coward that ran. No, instead, he and his men will march forward and pray to the gods that they make it through another day.

He ran a hand over his tired features and heaved out a tired sigh. What, in all of the Seven Kingdoms, was he supposed to do? She was his daughter. Those were his men. And the crown was his. And a sacrifice had to be made.

The scarred girl turned in her sleep, revealing a bit more of her face. He watched the corners of her mouth twitch into a ghost of a smile and, though he would never admit it, he felt his own smile frame his face. He reached a hand to brush a few strays of hair out of her face and gently tucked it behind her ear.

"My sweet child." He wasn't sure if he said that aloud or in his head. He went to adjust the covers over her small frame when he then noticed the book that was tightly pressed against her chest. He tried to grab it, but even with her mind clouded in dreams, her grip on the book wouldn't budge.

Sometimes, sacrifices must be made to ensure victory.

"Damn her." He muttered under his breath. Melisandre had helped him this far, he would not deny her that, but her last offer was out of line. She lost her mind if she thought he was going to sacrifice his own daughter. There had to be another way. He would not accept anything else. There was _always_ another way and Melisandre was damn well going to find him it.

Because if she didn't…

Shireen was supposed to die. Her life should have ended before it had even truly began, so everyone had told him at that time. He refused to believe it though and with every strength left inside of him, he held on to that ounce of hope his daughter would make it. His daughter that had eyes that mirrored his own, though hers were far more innocent and pure than his, was going to live and he would give anything to ensure that. And he did just that. He refused to give up on her and he called in every healer he could find to cure her.

He saved her life, but for what? So he could only take that life he had saved and sacrifice it to the Lord of Light? Was it truly worth it?

Save hundreds of men or save his daughter. That is what he needed to decide between. He had to make an impossible decision all within a reasonable time and for once, he did not know if he would be able to do so.

He blinked his eyes hard, feeling his eyes burn with an unfamiliar liquid. He scratched his forehead and cursed at himself. Sacrifices needed to be made, yes, but did it have to be his flesh in blood? He could just as easily sacrifice his obsession for power. He could end this, but how? He couldn't press forward and couldn't turn back.

At that moment, a part of Stannis knew what he had to do. He wasn't sure if it was right or wrong, but there were no other choices. He had to consider everyone in this decision and he hoped he was doing what any other leader or man would do.

Shireen loved him. She was probably the only one who really did. She was his daughter. She was his beautiful, loving, caring, little princess who shared his eyes. Who was the only one who touched his heart from the moment she entered the world until her final breath.

He then stood and cleared his throat, his eyes fixated on his child as she continued to sleep for a few moments before he finally turned with his back to her. He closed his eyes for a brief second and a single tear seemed to have escaped and slid down his cheek. _Forgive me_.

The three words a parent would usually say to their child almost slipped from his lips, but instead he bit back and swallowed them. He glanced once more over his shoulder with a tiny hint of a smile ghosting his features before he quietly whispered, "Good night, Shireen."

Stannis walked out of the tent, swearing he could have heard the softest reply in return.

"Good night, Father."


End file.
